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Felis Chaus

Summary:
Carlisle wants to know if Edward misses sex. OOC for SLASH (WARNING) and a bit AU since Edward is assumed to be nowhere near a virgin.


Notes:


1. Chapter 1

Rating 4/5   Word Count 1897   Review this Chapter

Edward knows that if Carlisle could sleep, he would do it now.

Those sixteen hours shifts drain the life out of anyone, but out of Carlisle, they pull whatever it is that keeps him alive and he comes home looking like a ghost.

Edward watches the sleek black car pull up and disappear in the carport. He can sense Carlisle’s stress radiating up the stairs, he doesn’t have to read it. The door to the garage opens and Carlisle steps in, the bruises under his eyes dark enough that Edward can tell he’s tried to conceal them with makeup.

“Thanks,” Carlisle says. His back is turned to Edward. He hasn’t even put his briefcase down.

“What?” Edward asks. He has to raise his voice just slightly over the music. A British band with weighty base lines and harsh piano riffs is playing. The singer has a high, moaning voice that hits Edward just where he likes it.

Carlisle drops the briefcase and tugs his tie loose, pops open the first couple buttons on his shirt and leans against the marble counter. “For the ‘you seem really dead’ look.”

Edward smirks. “You are dead.”

Carlisle ignores this and shoots the pumping speakers a murderous glare as a new electronic song comes on. He seems angry but his irises are still a soft caramel. He never allows himself to get hungry; he knows it’s too dangerous.

Not like Edward.

Edward lets his eyes get oil slick black. Pushes his self-control until it makes him twitch and someone yells at him to just go kill something already.

“What is this, stripping music?” Carlisle asks.

“Only if you want it to be,” Edward responds with a wiggle of his eyebrows. The two vampires stare at each other, their expressions serious, until Carlisle’s laugh bubbles over

and they fall to giggling. When they’ve quieted, Carlisle sinks down beside Edward on the fat, leather couch and pulls his tie off. He drapes it over his knee and busies his fingers with the buttons down his shirt. He throws both the items onto the floor beside Esme’s imported alpaca rug and stretches his arms above his head. His shoulders give a satisfying crack.

“Seriously, change the music,” he says, frowning, and Edward does, his long fingers plucking up the remote and tapping it to a folky, acoustic ballad. Carlisle’s stress eases as the music slows.

Thank you.

Edward nods.

The house is empty tonight. The only substantial thing breathing within 20 miles is a nervous deer drinking from the river, twitching at the smell of old, spilled blood. Edward smiles; leave it to the animals to know where the killers call home.

“Where is everyone?” Carlisle asks. He’s in his undershirt, his muscles defined against the thin, white cloth.

“Jasper is hunting near Mount Baker. Alice and Esme are still in New York annihilating your Centurion Card and Emmett and Rosalie are…somewhere,” Edward says.

Carlisle glances at him. Edward looks calm and slightly bored, his mouth relaxed and his eyes almost drooping.

“Somewhere?”

Edward shrugs. “Emmett said they were going to go fuck, fight and then kill things.”

“In that order?” Carlisle laughs.

“Seems about right.”

Esme’s lilacs have started blooming and the air is perfumed with that thick, sweet nectar for acres. Carlisle turns his head and openly stares at Edward’s immaculate profile: the square jaw and dark eyebrows, the plush, red lips. He reaches out and pushes his fingers into Edward’s hair. Edward doesn’t move away or question him. The only signal that he’s at all curious is a slight cut of his eyes and a barely there smirk.

After a few moments of allowing Carlisle to pet him Edward murmurs: “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Carlisle says, not bothering to remove his hand from where it rests on the back of Edward’s neck, “it’s just been awhile since I touched you.”

“Ah.”

Loneliness.

It’s been so long since Carlisle felt it that he can almost pretend he forgets. But then there’s that beautiful, volatile reminder wandering around the house in low-slung Levis and Hugo Boss shirts, smelling of good shampoo and even better cologne.

Carlisle knows that Edward is lonely. He doesn’t need to ask because it’s always denied but he’s such a terrible liar.

He had eyes like sea glass when he was human: big, emotional eyes. They’re still big, but that Kewpie Doll innocence drained out of them as the venom pulled away his mortality. With that pretty sea glass color gone, his eyes became the jewel of a great poker face.

“Do you ever miss it?”

Edward worms out from under Carlisle’s hand and turns to examine him. “Miss what?”

“Sex.” Carlisle watches as Edward works his jaw, a nervous habit he’s had for about 30 years. “It’s been awhile for you, hasn’t it? At least a good ten years since you and Tanya had that…thing.”

“Twelve,” Edward corrects. His face is unreadable. Finally, he breaks into a smile. “You’d be amazed at what a special relationship I have with my right hand.”

Carlisle laughs.

“No, really,” Edward insists, that lopsided grin still on his lips, “we’re quite close.”

“Alright, I can take a hint,” Carlisle says.

Edward’s smile relaxes and he switches the song again.

Carlisle’s shoulder muscles feel tense, a psychological hangover he never got over from his time as a human. Edward senses it the same way he knows if Rosalie feels like throwing cutlery that day or if Jasper just can’t cut the high school crap for the afternoon. Glimmers of thoughts that surface just long enough for him to capture them.

“C’mere,” he says, patting the space on the couch between his legs.

Carlisle obliges and sinks down on the floor between Edward’s knees, his toes sunk in the thick fur rug. Those long fingers go to work on his shoulders, kneading away imaginary pain.

Edward knows that he and Carlisle are built similarly: all lean, curving muscle pulled tight over long frames, but it’s the way they wear their skin that makes them so different. Carlisle is stable, quick to move for protection and slow to anger.

He always stands with his shoulders back.

He meets everyone’s eyes.

He smiles and you know he means it.

He’s always reminded Edward of a very expensive racehorse: pure beauty and power with a soul full of peace.

Edward knows he’s nothing like Carlisle. He knows he wears his power on his sleeve, and moves slow just so everyone can imagine how fast he can really be. His smiles are sly and they rarely reach his eyes. He has the languid confidence of a natural predator. Esme calls him a housecat but he knows she’s only trying to make him seem more endearing than he really is. Carlisle doesn’t sugarcoat what he thinks. When Edward’s acting up he calls him Felis Chaus.

Jungle cat.

Edward notices that Carlisle has gripped his left hand and is rubbing it gently. He scans Carlisle the best he can but doesn’t sense that his touch isn’t wanted anymore. Carlisle is one of the few who has managed to keep his mind closed to Edward.

It wasn’t always like that, but it is now.

“Do you want me to stop?” Edward finally asks.

“No,” Carlisle says, his voice sounds distant. “Really, I want t know: do you miss it?”

Edward sighs and stops massaging but he leaves his hands on Carlisle’s shoulders. “Yes.”

Carlisle cocks his head but doesn’t say anything else. Edward knows he’s waiting for more.

“It’s just something in my life I’m trying to control,” Edward says feebly. “I mean, I already want to kill most things, it helps if I don’t want to screw them as well.”

“I think I would kill people if I was celibate,” Carlisle says.

Edward huffs a laugh. “I’m not celibate. I’m just—“

“Celibate.”

Edward gives Carlisle a playful headlock and pushes him into the rug.

“Massage yourself,” he says.

Carlisle chuckles. “Like you’re forced to do?”

Edward launches himself at Carlisle and the two began to tussle on the floor.

It feels odd to be tangled against Carlisle, twisting the older vampire’s arm and nipping playfully at him. Carlisle’s gentler than Emmett, who is always willing to snap a bone to make a point. Carlisle uses just enough force to challenge Edward but never enough to hurt him.

Suddenly, Edward is awkwardly pinned beneath Carlisle. He’s not sure how it happens but he knows that if he forces himself, his right arm will fracture. Their faces are inches apart and Carlisle looks deathly serious.

“Fine,” Edward sighs. “You wi—“

The feeling of Carlisle’s lips on his is such a shock he allows his muscles to go slack before tensing up again. He pulls away and Carlisle releases his arm. They don’t move from the rug and Edward doesn’t move from beneath Carlisle. Then there’s the gentle pressure of Carlisle’s lips back on his. A rush of heat comes catapulting through him and Edward’s moving against him. He struggles to gain control but Carlisle keeps that steady pressure, just enough to keep Edward beneath him.

Carlisle’s tongue is warm and gentle and his mouth tastes hauntingly familiar, like Edward used to belong there. He cups the back of Edward’s neck and lets Edward thrust against him, lets the younger vampire almost feel in control.

Edward whimpers and digs his hand under the hem of Carlisle’s undershirt. He wrenches it up, almost tearing the fabric; he’s so desperate for the feel of skin on skin. Carlisle breaks the kiss and nudges Edward’s head to one side with his nose. He kisses a line down Edward’s neck, sucking roughly at the skin.

If Edward could remember what being 16 felt like, he’s sure it must have been like this.

The sound of a car winding up the drive breaks the shocking chemistry between them. Carlisle doesn’t leap backwards in shame. Instead, he gently disentangles himself from Edward’s steel grasp and tugs his shirt back down. He offers Edward his hand and, bewildered, Edward takes it and pulls himself up.

They sit back down on the couch together just as the garage door opens and Jasper steps in.

“Hello,” Jasper says, his voice peaceful with satiety.

“Hi, how was your hunt?” Carlisle asks. His voice has no tremor. He’s the picture of steadiness.

Edward stares at Carlisle, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. He grunts at Jasper’s greeting and Jasper ignores him, assumes he’s in a bad mood.

Carlisle and Jasper exchange pleasantries before Jasper jogs upstairs to shower.

“What was that?” Edward hisses when Jasper’s out of earshot.

Carlisle shrugs. “Just offering my services in case you ever get in a fight with your hand.”

Edward’s face crosses through a million emotions and Carlisle lays a quick peck on him.

“Don’t over think it. It’s not complicated.”

“It isn’t?” Edward whispers.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Carlisle says. He stands from the couch and grabs his shirt and tie from the floor. “I have some paperwork to do. I’ll see you later?”

Edward frowns.

“What do you mean by that?”

Carlisle ruffles his hair. “You’re overthinking it again.”

He disappears to his office just as Jasper bounds down the stairs. Jasper takes one look at Edward and peals of laughter escape him.

“What?” Edward snaps.

“Why do you have a hickey?”